tow-colored hair sticking out of a hole in the crown.
"Ory, shake hands with Tom Doan, of Hudnall's outfit," said Dunn.
"My nephew, Ory Tacks."
"Much obliged to meet you, Mister Doan," replied Tacks, with great aplomb.
"Howdy! Same to you," greeted Tom, in slow, good humor, as he studied the face of this newcomer.
Dunn interrupted his scrutiny.
"Is Hudnall in camp?"
"No. He's out hunting buffalo. I'm sure you're welcome to stop at our camp till he comes in. That'll be around sundown."
"Good. I'm needing sight and sound of some one I know," replied Dunn, significantly. "Lead the way, Doan. These horses of mine are thirsty."
When the travelers arrived at Hudnall's camp, Tom helped them unhitch in a favorable camping spot, and unpack the necessary camp duffle. Once during this work Ory Tacks halted so suddenly that he dropped a pack on his foot.
"Ouch!" he cried, lifting his foot to rub it with his hand while he kept his gaze toward Tom's camp. It was an enraptured and amazed gaze. "Do I see a beautiful young lady?"
Thus questioned, Tom wheeled to see Sally Hudnall's face framed in the white-walled door of Hudnall's prairie wagon. It was rather too far to judge accurately, but he inclined to the impression that Sally was already making eyes at Ory Tacks.
"Oh! There!" ejaculated Tom, hard put to it to keep his face serious. "It's a young lady, all right--Miss Sally Hudnall. But I can't see that she--"
"Uncle Jack, there's a girl in this camp," interrupted Ory, in tones of awe.
"We've got three women," said Tom.
"Well, that's a surprise to us," returned Dunn. "I had no idea Hudnall would fetch his women folks down here into the buffalo country. I wonder if he . . . Tom, is there a buffalo-hunter with you, a man who knows the frontier?"
"Yes. Jude Pilchuck."
"Did he stand for the women coming?"
"I guess he had no choice," rejoined Tom.
"Humph! How long have you been on the river?"
"Two days."
"Seen any other outfits?"
"No. But Pilchuck said there were a couple down the river."
"Awhuh," said Dunn, running a stubby, powerful hand through his beard. He seemed concerned. "You see, Doan, we've been in the buffalo country since last fall. And we've sure had it rough.
Poor luck on our fall hunt. That was over on the Brazos. Kiowa Indians on the rampage. Our winter hunt we made on the line of Indian Territory. We didn't know it was against the law to kill buffalo in the Territory. The officers took our hides. Then we'd got our spring hunt started fine--west of here forty miles or so.
Had five hundred hides. And they were stolen."
"You don't say!" exclaimed Tom, astonished. "Who'd be so low down as to steal hides?"
"Who?" snorted Dunn, with fire in his small eyes. "We don't know.
The soldiers don't know. They SAY the thieves are Indians. But I'm one who believes they are white."
Tom immediately grasped the serious nature of this information.
The difficulties and dangers of hide-hunting began to assume large proportions.
"Well, you must tell Hudnall and Pilchuck all about this," he said.
Just then Sally called out sweetly, "Tom--oh, Tom--wouldn't your visitors like a bite to eat?"
"Reckon they would, miss, thanks to you," shouted Dunn, answering for himself. As for Ory Tacks, he appeared overcome, either by the immediate prospect of food, or by going into the presence of the beautiful young lady. Tom noted that he at once dropped his task of helping Dunn and bent eager energies to the improvement of his personal appearance. Dunn and Tom had seated themselves before Ory joined them, but when he did come he was manifestly bent on making a great impression.
"Miss Hudnall--my nephew, Ory Tacks," announced Dunn, with quaint formality.
"What's the name?" queried Sally, incredulously, as if she had not heard aright.
"Orville Tacks--at your service, Miss Hudnall," replied the young man, elaborately. "I am much obliged to meet you."
Sally took him in with keen, doubtful gaze, and evidently, when she could convince
"Ory, shake hands with Tom Doan, of Hudnall's outfit," said Dunn.
"My nephew, Ory Tacks."
"Much obliged to meet you, Mister Doan," replied Tacks, with great aplomb.
"Howdy! Same to you," greeted Tom, in slow, good humor, as he studied the face of this newcomer.
Dunn interrupted his scrutiny.
"Is Hudnall in camp?"
"No. He's out hunting buffalo. I'm sure you're welcome to stop at our camp till he comes in. That'll be around sundown."
"Good. I'm needing sight and sound of some one I know," replied Dunn, significantly. "Lead the way, Doan. These horses of mine are thirsty."
When the travelers arrived at Hudnall's camp, Tom helped them unhitch in a favorable camping spot, and unpack the necessary camp duffle. Once during this work Ory Tacks halted so suddenly that he dropped a pack on his foot.
"Ouch!" he cried, lifting his foot to rub it with his hand while he kept his gaze toward Tom's camp. It was an enraptured and amazed gaze. "Do I see a beautiful young lady?"
Thus questioned, Tom wheeled to see Sally Hudnall's face framed in the white-walled door of Hudnall's prairie wagon. It was rather too far to judge accurately, but he inclined to the impression that Sally was already making eyes at Ory Tacks.
"Oh! There!" ejaculated Tom, hard put to it to keep his face serious. "It's a young lady, all right--Miss Sally Hudnall. But I can't see that she--"
"Uncle Jack, there's a girl in this camp," interrupted Ory, in tones of awe.
"We've got three women," said Tom.
"Well, that's a surprise to us," returned Dunn. "I had no idea Hudnall would fetch his women folks down here into the buffalo country. I wonder if he . . . Tom, is there a buffalo-hunter with you, a man who knows the frontier?"
"Yes. Jude Pilchuck."
"Did he stand for the women coming?"
"I guess he had no choice," rejoined Tom.
"Humph! How long have you been on the river?"
"Two days."
"Seen any other outfits?"
"No. But Pilchuck said there were a couple down the river."
"Awhuh," said Dunn, running a stubby, powerful hand through his beard. He seemed concerned. "You see, Doan, we've been in the buffalo country since last fall. And we've sure had it rough.
Poor luck on our fall hunt. That was over on the Brazos. Kiowa Indians on the rampage. Our winter hunt we made on the line of Indian Territory. We didn't know it was against the law to kill buffalo in the Territory. The officers took our hides. Then we'd got our spring hunt started fine--west of here forty miles or so.
Had five hundred hides. And they were stolen."
"You don't say!" exclaimed Tom, astonished. "Who'd be so low down as to steal hides?"
"Who?" snorted Dunn, with fire in his small eyes. "We don't know.
The soldiers don't know. They SAY the thieves are Indians. But I'm one who believes they are white."
Tom immediately grasped the serious nature of this information.
The difficulties and dangers of hide-hunting began to assume large proportions.
"Well, you must tell Hudnall and Pilchuck all about this," he said.
Just then Sally called out sweetly, "Tom--oh, Tom--wouldn't your visitors like a bite to eat?"
"Reckon they would, miss, thanks to you," shouted Dunn, answering for himself. As for Ory Tacks, he appeared overcome, either by the immediate prospect of food, or by going into the presence of the beautiful young lady. Tom noted that he at once dropped his task of helping Dunn and bent eager energies to the improvement of his personal appearance. Dunn and Tom had seated themselves before Ory joined them, but when he did come he was manifestly bent on making a great impression.
"Miss Hudnall--my nephew, Ory Tacks," announced Dunn, with quaint formality.
"What's the name?" queried Sally, incredulously, as if she had not heard aright.
"Orville Tacks--at your service, Miss Hudnall," replied the young man, elaborately. "I am much obliged to meet you."
Sally took him in with keen, doubtful gaze, and evidently, when she could convince
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